


Pebbles, Windows, and Uneven Ground

by sometimesIwritethings



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Best Friends, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, M/M, awkwardness but it turns out cute I promise, getting togther, wow I just love them a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27069691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesIwritethings/pseuds/sometimesIwritethings
Summary: “Hajime?”And if the grabbing and the staring and the standing so close he can feel the other’s breath on his face hadn’t gotten Iwaizumi’s attention, that certainly did it. Oikawa hadn’t called him anything other than that annoying, endearing nickname of his since they were nine.“Yeah?” His response is barely audible, riding it’s way out of his mouth on the last of a shaky exhale.“Can I kiss you?”
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 13
Kudos: 140





	Pebbles, Windows, and Uneven Ground

**Author's Note:**

> To quote my wonderful friend, incredible editor, and eternal hypeman [@icedlatteextrashot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedlatteextrashot/pseuds/icedlatteextrashot) "yeet."

Iwaizumi takes his time in the shower after practice, allowing the scalding water to beat down against his shoulders and slide over the ache in his back for far longer than is necessary. The locker room is completely silent save for the stream of water above him and he relishes the peaceful moment.

The water eventually starts to cool and he reluctantly turns the knob to stop its flow, drying himself hastily with a towel and sliding on his pants before exiting the shower stall. The locker room is empty.

Oikawa hasn’t walked home from practice without him since they joined the team together during their first year of middle school. Which means that he’s still practicing. Iwaizumi huffs, digging into his bag for a shirt to pull over his head and towel drying his hair. He’s going to have to convince the idiot to go home and actually get some sleep.

Again.

He finishes dressing quickly, shouldering his own bag and grabbing Oikawa’s from his locker on the way out.

The squeak of shoes on the gym floor and the echoing sound of a volleyball smacking against the floor reach Iwaizumi before he makes it to the door. Oikawa is picking up another ball as he enters, weighing it in his hands as he eyes the other side of the court thoughtfully. He watches as the setter shifts his weight, tossing it into the air and slamming it down on the other side of the net with a precision that looks effortless but Iwaizumi knows comes from hundreds of hours of grueling practice.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa greets, not even looking toward him as he picks up another ball. “Will you let me set for you?”

“No.”

The ball slams into the ground, inches from where the last one landed. The full force of Oikawa’s pout is turned onto Iwaizumi as he forgoes another volleyball. “Why not?”

“Because practice ended nearly an hour ago. You need to go home.”

“Please?” The request has a whine to the end of it and Iwaizumi wants desperately to find it annoying rather than endearing.

“No.”

“Just a few?”

“I just showered, stop bothering me about it and let’s go.” Iwaizumi is already setting their bags onto the floor and shrugging off his jacket. They both knew his protests were for show the moment Oikawa asked.

The setter is quiet about it, not even declaring his triumph as Iwaizumi joins him beside the net. He glances over at him, watching his friends face as he picks up another ball.

His best friend has been quieter lately, Iwaizumi thinks as he gets a running start, the ball meeting his palm perfectly at the height of his swing. It slams onto the opposite side of the court with satisfying accuracy.

Oikawa still says nothing, turning to get another ball and they repeat the process. It’s familiar, old habit at this point, spiking Oikawa’s sets. As Captain, he always pays close attention to each of his teammates, their preferred spikes, the way they go after the ball. Iwaizumi is no exception. In fact, he’s the opposite. They’ve known each other for so long, been a part of each other's lives in a complicated tangle, played together for nearly as long. Oikawa knows the way Iwaizumi plays as well as he knows his own sets and Iwaizumi can say the same. The ball comes to him a third time again with faultless accuracy.

Something about it makes Iwaizumi’s stomach clench and twist in a way he’s uncomfortably familiar with. When it first started happening a few months ago, Iwaizumi had been concerned he was getting sick. He’d ignored it the first few times, convincing himself to power through at least long enough to get through the first couple months of their third year, long enough to get settled back into the team and his new role as Oikawa’s vice-captain.

They hadn’t gone away. Changed in frequency most certainly. Varied from this sharp, burning twist in his guts to the light, fluttering feeling that felt higher up toward his chest sometimes. 

He’d almost mentioned it to Oikawa one night as it happened, the gentler feeling resting in his chest like a familiar visitor at this point. They had been walking home in the sunset one night, staying late after practice again, though for the first time Oikawa had been filling out necessary club paperwork as a part of his new captain’s duties rather than running himself into the ground.

Iwaizumi hadn’t been sure exactly what he wanted to say, but he and Oikawa didn’t keep secrets. They’d never kept secrets. Honestly, they probably knew far more about each other than normal social boundaries between friends dictated. Neither of them cared, the comfortable familiarity of being incessantly tangled in the other’s lives making it easy to share everything about themselves.

The sun had been setting behind Oikawa when Iwaizumi looked over at him. The brown of his hair glowing bronze in the wash of the sunset, his face glowing in the light. He’d been laughing about something, Iwaizumi couldn’t remember what if he tried, and his eyes shone bright as he glanced at his best friend. A horrible, sinking feeling replaced all of the others in his chest as Iwaizumi realized exactly what the cause was. 

Absolutely not, he’d told himself firmly that night. The longest night of his life. He’d spent it staring at the dark ceiling of his room, desperately trying to convince himself not to fall in love with his best friend. But here he was, three months later, looking at Oikawa with carefully concealed affection as he picked up another volleyball.

Iwaizumi starts moving on autopilot, anticipating another perfect set to send the ball spiraling to meet his hand exactly as he swings. Instead, he feels the sharp smack against his face as the ball makes contact with the side of his head.

He lands clumsily, swinging to face Oikawa with a growl. “What the hell was that?”

Oikawa shrugs, all loose and graceful, holding another ball against one of his hips. “You were thinking too hard.”

“I was thinking too hard?” Iwaizumi demands, taking a threatening step closer.

The setter’s grin goes sharp. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

And it’s on. Iwaizumi makes a sudden move forward to snatch the ball from him. Oikawa dodges it quickly, ducking around the other side of the ball bin. The one he’s holding sails over, gently smacking into Iwaizumi’s chest. He digs into the ball bin, grabbing one and sending it harder than is strictly necessary into the side of Oikawa’s face.

“Iwa-chan!”

The next couple of minutes are a blur of volleyballs gently being tossed at faces and chests and arms and backsides. Curses and yells of laughter echo in the empty room as they chase each other around the bin, teasing and laughing as they smack each other repeatedly with the balls.

When he dives his hand back into the bin and finds it empty, Iwaizumi forgoes the volleyballs entirely and cheats, wheeling the bin to the side to make a grab for Oikawa. The setter lets out a shriek of laughter and tries to dodge around the corner of the cart. Iwaizumi manages to catch him by the wrist and pulls, yanking Oikawa toward him.

At Oikawa’s shout of protest, Iwaizumi releases his arm, concerned for the briefest second that he’d pulled too hard. There’s a brief moment of panic in Oikawa’s eyes as he realizes he’s overcorrected his balance and loses it entirely, stumbling backward. His legs hit the edge of the ball cart and he goes toppling over the side, landing in the soft bottom with a rough exhale, half of his legs hanging over the side.

Iwaizumi leans over the side with a triumphant grin, looking down at Oikawa, sprawled back across the bottom of the cart. 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa snaps, no heat to the tone at all.

“I win,” he declares, reaching a hand down to jab the other in the ribs.

Oikawa squirms and bats his hand away. “Don’t you dare.”

Obeying the request, Iwaizumi forgoes his plan to torment his friend, instead extending both hands to tug the setter up and onto his feet. Oikawa lands with a wince and Iwaizumi keeps hold of his hands. 

“Are you okay? Did I hurt your knee?”

He shakes his head. “No, no, I’m fine.”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, but Oikawa meets his gaze and he can’t find a trace of anything to indicate he’s lying about it. Which means that Iwaizumi’s mind is free to panic about the fact that they’re still standing very close to each other, he can feel Oikawa’s breath brushing across his own face, their hands still clasped together. His gaze flickers, ever so briefly, across his face, taking in the sun-kissed skin and lingering too long on smooth, pink lips. When he glances up at his eyes, Oikawa’s staring directly at him. Looking like he’s suddenly understood something.

Iwaizumi hastily drops his hands. “Good, yeah. Let’s…” He pauses and clears his throat as he takes a step back. “We should clean up and head home, it’s getting late.”

Warm, strong hands wrap around his upper arms and his space is being invaded once more. Oikawa is very close to him, closer than before. His hands resting firmly on Iwaizumi’s biceps, his eyes staring, searching for something in his ace’s expression. On some instinct, Iwaizumi brings his own hands up, resting them on Oikawa’s hips.

“Hajime?”

And if the grabbing and the staring and the standing so close he can feel the other’s breath on his face hadn’t gotten Iwaizumi’s attention, that certainly did it. Oikawa hadn’t called him anything other than that annoying, endearing nickname of his since they were nine. 

“Yeah?” His response is barely audible, riding it’s way out of his mouth on the last of a shaky exhale.

“Can I kiss you?”

Iwaizumi blinks. “What?”

Oikawa’s hands release his arms and he’s taking a step back. Iwaizumi panics, tightens the grip he has on the setter's waist to keep him in place. “Wait.”

That carefully constructed grin is sliding into place onto Oikawa’s face and Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to make it disappear again. Make him smile for real again.

“Wait,” he repeats, tugging him back into Iwaizumi’s space. “Wait, no, you can kiss me.”

Oikawa’s hands hover in the air between them for an agonizingly long moment before he rests them against Iwaizumi, one on his chest, one gripping tightly at his upper arm. The look he gives the ace is full of gentle awe.

“I can?”

The air is suddenly suffocating and too hot, that flutter in Iwaizumi’s stomach is going haywire and turning quickly into something akin to nausea. He’s hyper aware of the way that his hands are gripping firmly at his best friend's waist, fingertips digging into him, keeping him pulled close. Too conscious of how desperately he wants to feel the press of lips against his own. He feels off balance and awkward, diving into brand new territory that he hasn’t even allowed himself to daydream about. He wants to say something, anything, to put them back on normal ground, reestablish the comfortable, easy familiarity they’ve always lived in. But he also wants Oikawa to close the considerably short space between their mouths and kiss him.

“Of course you can, idiot.”

The wince that crosses Oikawa’s face is matched by the sharp, uncomfortable feeling that Iwaizumi feels so strongly he swears it echoes in his soul. That was wrong. And now, somehow, miraculously, it’s even more awkward and uncomfortable.

They stand there for too long. Both unwilling to step back and let go, neither knowing how to move forward.

Eventually, Oikawa laughs, that horrible, hollow fake laugh Iwaizumi has heard him deliver to their team, their classmates, his female admirers, his parents, a million times. He laughs and releases Iwaizumi’s arm, stepping backward and raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. This time, Iwaizumi lets him go.

“Right, that was weird.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agrees, hollow and uncertain. Unsure what to do with his hands now that they’re no longer clutching at his best friend’s waist. “We shouldn’t…”

“No,” Oikawa agrees, bending down to scoop up two of the volleyballs that are littered across the gym floor. “It was a stupid idea.”

Iwaizumi can’t bring himself to agree, can’t muster any words of assent. Now that he knows it could have been an option, the fluttery feeling in his stomach whenever he looks at Oikawa is going to be a million times worse. And this time it’s going to be tinged with regret at his own stupidity.

They pick up the rest of the balls in silence, tossing them into the bin with no flair and Iwaizumi puts his jacket back on, tossing Oikawa’s to him without looking at the other. He scoops up both of their bags as Oikawa flips off the lights and they head into the night.

The walk home has never felt so agonizing, the familiar path that’s carved into the both of their brains feels endless tonight. Oikawa is talking, loudly, filling the empty air with anything but the thoughts they are both thinking. He talks about practice today, about their upcoming training camp in a few weeks, about the plan he’s been formulating to force their first years into joining them for team movie night since they’d skipped the last one, talks about having Iwaizumi design a brutal training program for the team to do over the upcoming break. Coach is going on a family vacation and has left training and practice in their very capable hands.

He talks and talks and talks and every few steps, his fingers brush ever so lightly against Iwaizumi’s, their hands swinging in the minimal space between them. It happens over and over, and Iwaizumi focuses his gaze on the ground in front of him, trying to build the tiny piece of courage within him. The minuscule scrap of boldness that’s hanging on by a thread in his brain, fueled only by the memory of the way Oikawa had stared at him in the inches between their faces, the way his tongue had darted out ever so briefly to wet his lips, the way his breathing had been audibly quicker when Iwaizumi tightened his hands on his waist.

It’s that that makes him bolder, just brave enough that the next time Oikawa’s fingers brush against the backs of his, he twists his hand and grabs his friends, sliding their fingers into place around each other. Oikawa glances at him for one, brief moment. Then he looks firmly back ahead of them, still talking, squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand as they head toward home.

Iwaizumi attributes the formation of their fast friendship to the proximity of their houses. They live on opposite ends of the same street, but close enough that even at six they’d been allowed to run down the block to meet the other. The older they got, the more frequently they were at each other’s homes. Doing homework, practicing volleyball, laying upside down on Oikawa’s bed late into the night, feet kicked up on the wall, staring up at the glow in the dark stars stuck haphazardly on his ceiling as they talked about everything.

As they transitioned into high school, it became more and more common. The first time Oikawa woke in the middle of the night with panic squeezing his chest so tight he could barely sneak in a breath, he’d texted Iwaizumi and stumbled down the block, Iwaizumi sneaking him in through the backdoor, snuggling close against him under a pile of blankets until they both fell asleep. The night Iwaizumi had pelted tiny rocks at Oikawa’s window frame until the other had opened it and watched him climb up into his room with a sleepy stare, pulling him close under a quilt while Iwaizumi stared up at the glowing ceiling with teary eyes and whispered that he didn’t think he liked girls the way Oikawa did. Oikawa had simply thrown an arm across his chest and whispered that he thought boys were just as pretty as girls and to “go to sleep, Iwa-chan, we have practice in the morning.”

Tonight, the distance is agonizing. The idea of leaving Oikawa at his front door, at the other end of the block that now feels like miles, makes Iwaizumi grit his teeth in frustration. But, all too soon, they are reaching the door, coming to a halt in front of the Oikawa family home, windows lit bright and spilling a warm glow onto the sidewalk in front.

Oikawa squeezes his hand, once, way too tight to be accidental, and let's go, letting his own hand fall back to his side. “Goodnight, Iwa-chan.”

“Goodnight,” Iwaizumi whispers, voice coming out rough and uneven. He clears his throat, tries again. “Goodnight, Oikawa.”

It’s only through mustering all of his willpower that Iwaizumi steps back, sliding Oikawa’s bag off of his shoulder and holding it out between them. The setter takes it, sliding it up onto his own shoulder, never breaking eye contact, reaching out to squeeze Iwaizumi’s hand and release it again. Iwaizumi clears his throat again, steels himself, turns away toward his own house. “See you.”

Oikawa doesn’t answer and Iwaizumi forces himself to keep walking. This is stupid. It’s a dumb idea. They’d agreed it was a dumb idea. You shouldn’t date your best friend, that’s a surefire recipe for ruining a lifetime of easy intimacy with nothing but an awkward conversation, a bad date, and an uncomfortable press of lips together. They shouldn’t do this. But he can feel the weight of the gaze prickling along the back of his neck as he walks.

He hasn’t even made it halfway down the block when he allows himself the smallest glance over his shoulder. Oikawa is standing exactly where Iwaizumi left him, hand still held out in front of him like he’s forgotten to put it down.

Something steely and determined inside of Iwaizumi rises again. He whirls around, bag knocking aggressively against his back when he’s fully turned, and stomps back down the street until he’s standing in front of his best friend once more. Hands move of their own accord, one settling on Oikawa cheek, the other tugging him in by the collar of his jacket. 

For all the force with which Iwaizumi brings them together, the kiss is gentle. His own, slightly chapped, lips slide against Oikawa’s own. It’s quick and simple. There are no fireworks, no neon lights flashing above, no eruption of a million sparks between them. It’s easy. It’s comfortable. It feels safe and familiar. 

Oikawa’s hands come up to grip at the front of Iwaizumi’s jacket as their lips separate. They stare at each other for a long moment, a million unspoken words between them, but, as they always have, they understand each other without them. Iwaizumi darts forward, another quick push of lips and then releases him, stepping back and turning on his heel as abruptly as he had approached. He’s nearly halfway down the block again when he pauses to call over his shoulder.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at five. If you’re late, I’m not paying.”

Iwaizumi chances another quick glance over his shoulder, still moving toward home. Oikawa is standing in the same spot, but the smile that’s stretched across his face is enough to keep the warm little feeling in his chest ignited for the rest of the night, long after he’s eaten dinner and changed, bid his parents goodnight and settled down into his bed. 

Hours later, he isn’t even surprised when the little clicks of pebbles sound against his window frame. He gets up to open in and has already crawled back under the warm blankets by the time Oikawa’s long limbs are pulling him into the room. “Iwa-chan, I was reading this thing online about professional volleyball and I need a second opinion.”

Iwaizumi smiles, barely listening to the words coming out of his friend's mouth as Oikawa slides his way under the blankets and presses his cold body up against Iwaizumi’s back. He falls asleep listening to Oikawa chatter away about the superiority of volleyball over baseball and how strangers on the internet are wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading friends!


End file.
